to: weston.maguire@baderu.com
from: cassie.belford@baderu.com
subject: Re:Mission Impossible
sent: March 25, 2017 at 9:08pm
Hi Wes,
I've never seen the Mission Impossible movies. Actually, I don't think I've seen any Tom Cruise movies. He's not the one from Fight Club, is he?
Okay I checked and that's Brad Pitt. Shit.
I'm not really a movie person. Sometimes I'll try to watch one, but I'm usually left with a lot of questions. Before Simon left for Texas, he and I watched Forrest Gump. I'd never seen it before (see, I'm really not a movie person) but I liked it. It's one of Simon's favourites, and I immediately had fifty questions:
"What happens when the little kid goes to high school? Will Forrest just hire a tutor or something?"
He shrugged. "You know as much as I do."
"But do you think Tom Hanks/Forrest would ever remarry?"
"Cassie, I have no idea."
"But---" Simon got up and left before I could ask anything else. He's an extraordinarily patient person, but there are times I'll still exhaust him.
He took Hank to Texas with him and Sarah. I figured he would, since Simon and Hank really shouldn't be apart, but I wasn't prepared for how quiet it would be at home.
Even with the radio and TV on, there wasn't enough noise. I tried to be productive. I cleaned, I read, I wrote, I studied, and I deep conditioned my hair.
But after a day and a half, I was bored. So, I did what anybody in Kingston with no friends does; I went to the mall.
Have you ever been to the Gardiner Center? The stores are all kind of meh, but they have a Cinnabon.
I sat on a mall bench (it's funny how malls try to trick people into believing they're outside) eating my calorie-dense snack and watching people go about their day.
There are people who choose to be there and those who desperately want to leave. Some people, like me, go to pass time, whereas others are there on a mission; they want to find that waffle iron and leave in ten minutes or less.
I saw an old guy scold a couple of kids.
There was a teenager with red eyes and a beanie.
I even saw a pigeon who couldn't find his way out of the mall.
Then, a short girl with big curly hair caught my eye. She was with her mom---an older, even shorter, and wider version of the daughter. From the bit of conversation I overheard, they were there to find a dress for her junior prom. She wanted something black, so it would be flattering, and mid-length, so she would look taller.
I went to two dances in high school. One was homecoming when I was dating Felix, and the other was prom. Prom was cheesy, as it was meant to be, but it was the number of strangers that fucked with my head.
My high school wasn't very big, so I knew everyone's names and random details about their lives, but I didn't really know any of them. Even the girls I sat with at lunch felt like strangers. Sure, I knew which one was insecure about her braces and which one wouldn't get into college, but I'd never taken an interest in anything I couldn't learn from observation. Nor had I let anyone get to know me. My isolation in high school was practical; I was so busy working and studying so I could get a scholarship, leave town, and find a life. But I was actually really good at being alone.
At least until Simon.
The first few times we hung out, I thought it was nice of him to open his door for me. But as the semester went on, he was persistent in his effort to get to know me. And I resisted. It got to the point that I couldn't leave my dorm room without running into him. He didn't have Hank yet, so he'd bring his cane and walk with me around campus, his chatter was endless. He knew I had no other friends. He knew I didn't want friends. But he pretended not to notice, and eventually, I got used to him being there.
He became a fixture in my life, part of my routine, and now I'm so aware of his absence. It isn't as if being alone makes me sad. I actually like my own company. But I've gotten used to having a person.
Truthfully, it scares me sometimes. It's been easy to get attached to Simon, and now I depend on him, to an extent. I expect him to be there. I've gotten used to asking someone about their day and telling them about mine. I grew accustomed to wanting to spend time with someone for no other reason than comfort. Home wasn't just quiet today---it was empty.
As it turns out, my human contact is limited to my roommate, his girlfriend and his dog.
And then there's you, Wes. You are the first and only person I've ever chosen. Simon, and the others by extension, snuck their way into my space.
I decided to know you, and to let you know me. Even if it's not in person, we know each other through writing.
I was thrilled when I realized the degree to which you trusted me. Rather than exploit it or hide from vulnerability, I trusted you back. The gift in this whole setup was that we get to choose what we share and how much the other person knows. And, for reasons I haven't explored, I was happy to give you my story.
That's no small feat.
But you and I don't really exist outside of this correspondence. I know you think spending time together is a natural transition. Fun, like the other night with Simon and Peter. And you're not totally wrong. I liked seeing you, and I liked meeting your friend. But I'm just not capable of maintaining that level of connection outside of our emails.
You might think you know exactly what kind of person I am, but the version of me you see in writing is heavily edited and filtered---the kind of girl I chose to show you. The number of times you've seen me unedited could be counted on one hand.
I'm also a busy person. Between school, the book, and graduation, there's not enough time for anything new. And that goes for you, too. The end of the semester is coming up quickly, and soon you'll be leaving to meet coaches and prep for that hockey tournament that has you and Peter so excited. It doesn't make sense to change things. Not when this works.
The fact is, I like what we have here. I like knowing you, and I like writing to you. It makes me happy. Can't that be enough?
Sincerely,
Cass
. . .
Texts sent March 25, 2017 at 10:30pm:
Simon Idzik: Hey, how are you doing?
Cassie Belford: I only set off the smoke alarm six times. We were also robbed, but only a little.
Simon Idzik: That's much better than I was expecting. How is an apartment robbed a little?
Cassie Belford: They didn't bring a vehicle, so they only took what they could carry. It's mostly TV remotes and toiletries.
Simon Idzik: Cute.
Simon Idzik: What have you been up to?
Cassie Belford: I went to the mall. I tried to go for a run but ended up getting an iced coffee and reading my horoscope by mistake.
Simon Idzik: Are you going to see your friend?
Cassie Belford: Jeez, what is it with you? You're like a dog with a bone. Let it the fuck go.
Cassie Belford: No. I'm not. He's got his training thing.
Simon Idzik: Sorry, sorry. I was just asking. We'll see you in a few days.
. . .
to: weston.maguire@baderu.com
from: cassandra.belford@baderu.com
subject: Where are you?
sent: March 27, 2017 at 9:02pm
Wes,
It's been two days, where are you?
Cassie
. . .
to: cassandra.belford@baderu.com
from: weston.maguire@baderu.com
subject: Re: Where are you?
sent: March 28, 2017 at 1:58am
Hey Cass,
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write back. I've been spending a lot of time with the team, and I wanted to get everything organized in my head, so I could explain myself the right way.
I'll get to your last email in a sec, but first I gotta tell you about the fucking kid that Glover assigned me before I forget everything that happened over the last couple days.
His name is Nathan. Even though he's three years younger, he's a solid two inches taller than me. Six feet and seven fucking inches. Which is tall, but most of us who are even close to his height are twice as wide as Nate. He's built like a lamp, tall and skinny. But shit, he's fast. If he can bulk up, he might actually play after graduation.
He's also weird as fuck.
The team and the newbies all went for pizza and beer after the first practice, so Pete and I were walking to the restaurant with Nathan. It was already dark out, and out of nowhere, Nathan says (to himself): "maybe we'll see a raccoon tonight."
Peter and I stared at each other, confused.
"Sorry?" I asked, wondering if we'd missed something.
"Are you high?" Peter asked at the same time, genuinely wondering.
Nathan gestured at the neighbourhood we were talking past. "It's dark, and that's when the raccoons come out, right?"
"Sure," I said, still confused.
"Maybe we'll see one."
We dropped it and kept talking about the program for the week. Nathan announced each place on Main street as we walked: "Oh, shawarma. Nice, Burger King. Cool, sushi." Then we passed a clothing store, and he went: "Oh, the GAP, I can't eat that." He wasn't trying to be goofy or make a joke. He was just talking.
"Are you high?" I asked, echoing Peter.
Now he looked confused. "No, no. I'm hungry."
Weird, right?
Our right wing, Arie, was the only one who got to the restaurant before us. It's not that I don't like Arie... I hardly know him. But I get a bad vibe, you know? He's a year older than me, and he's completing his fifth year to finish his undergrad, something a lot of the guys do to accommodate for hockey. He and Doug were good friends, which is another reason I'm not crazy about him.
"Where the fuck is everyone?" Arie asked as we sat down. Our group had reserved about half of the restaurant.
"Dunno," Pete said.
"Peter!" Arie appeared to have just noticed he was there. "Holy shit man, I thought you were kicked off the team!"
Fucking asshole. Peter had been at practice all day and gone above and beyond. Apparently Arie hadn't noticed.
Peter shrugged. "Jaz wanted me back for training."
I stared at Arie. "Peter's one of our strongest players. Obviously, he had to train the new guys. What were we gonna do, leave it to you?"
Peter chuckled. He didn't seem bothered.
Arie launched into a rant about how much better the team was a couple of years ago when Pete was still playing and guys like Tony Bron and Doug Hodge were on the team. Arie thinks Doug is the best player to ever play on the Bader's hockey team. What a bunch of shit.
The rest of the evening was uneventful.
We joked around and talked about the season. The reality of leaving the team was hitting us all hard. At one point, Paul, our goalie, asked me about my plans for next year. I grinned, figuring it was a good time to tell the guys my news.
I stood up. "Uh, hey guys. I've got something I wanted to say," I started.
Jaz stopped talking immediately and motioned for the rest of them to do the same. Everyone went quiet. We seriously couldn't have asked for a better captain this year.
I took a deep breath and gave them the speech I had practiced all week in preparation. "I want to take a second to congratulate the team and extend the sentiment to next year's players. It's been a hell of a year, and I'm happy to have worked with all of you." This wasn't entirely true. Some of the guys I could have done without, but I was feeling sentimental. "I have some news," I said, looking around at everyone's faces. "I've actually gotten an offer to do rookie camp with the Oilers. I'm gonna go up to Edmonton after exams and discuss a possible future with the team."
The guys whooped and cheered immediately, making me feel like a fucking hero. Pete clapped me on the back, reminding me a lot of my dad when he's feeling proud.
I was immediately bombarded with questions from everyone who hadn't known. I'd talked to a few guys, and my coach, when I was trying to decide between Boston and Edmonton, but Peter and Jaz were the only ones who'd had a heads up about my news.
So yeah, Cass. I decided. I'm gonna try my luck with hockey, we'll see where it goes.
Okay, now about your email... I get what you're saying.
I definitely spend time making sure I sound as smart and interesting as possible when I write to you. I double-check my grammar, and I add random details, and sure, to some degree my words have been filtered. But it's not like I'm misrepresenting myself, and I'm fairly certain you aren't either. Our writing is edited, but it's still us writing.
We've gotten into a lot this semester. That means something.
And yeah, you're right, you did choose me. I don't know how many guys responded to your flyer at the beginning of the semester, but whether it be out of 200 people or two, you let me help you with your work. And I'm grateful that you did. But I chose you just as you chose me.
I've been completely honest and open with you about things that matter to me. Because yes, I trust you. And I know you trust me, too. I think it's more than that, though.
I think you like me. We both know I like you.
Sure, we met each other through writing, but isn't that a good thing? I know I was more honest because of it. I wasn't focussed on trying to impress a pretty girl, because I wasn't writing to 'a pretty girl'---I was writing to Cassie Belford, a person who just happens to be a pretty girl. I know who you are, Cass. I really like who you are. You're someone who understood Peter without knowing him and helped me be there for him. You're someone who works really hard. And you're someone who manages to both scare me and make me laugh with her emails.
You make me try harder, and care. Edited or not, you're the person who's been writing to me these last few months.
And I'd really like to take that person on a date. I don't care if it's dinner and a movie, coffee, or an afternoon stealing bike seats downtown. I want to spend more time with you.
I know it's a long shot, but I have to put it out there. You made me work so hard to earn your trust, and even harder to see you smile, but fuck if I don't live for it. Honestly, I'll be whatever you need me to be. And if I'm totally wrong and completely misreading the situation, I'm happy to own that. We can keep writing. I won't ask you out again, I swear.
But if I'm going to Edmonton at the end of the semester to give hockey a shot, I figure I had to at least give us a shot, too.
Take care,
Wes
. . .
Texts sent March 28, 2017 at 12:30pm:
Peter Moore: Are you okay?
Weston Maguire: I'm usually the one who asks that question.
Peter Moore: You basically whaled on Arie all morning. Is this about what he said last night? The stuff about Cassie?
Weston Maguire: He had no fucking clue what he's talking about.
Peter Moore: Probably. But you seem pretty into her. So, I get it if you're pissed about the stuff he said about her and Doug.
Peter Moore: I actually thought you were gonna beat the shit out of him at the restaurant.
Peter Moore: I'm sorry I brought her up. I didn't think he knew her.
Weston Maguire: Not your fault. Doug, Arie, Tony, all those guys are fucking shitheads.
Weston Maguire: I remember that party. I actually talked to her at that party. Doug's a liar.
Peter Moore: I figured.
Weston Maguire: She was pretty disgusted by him that night. If he'd even tried to talk to her, she would have kicked his ass.
Peter Moore: I would have paid to see that.
Weston Maguire: Well I sort of asked her out last night. So, maybe you'll get to see her kick mine.